She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. She had paid her bill, and she had enough left in her purse to pay many such. Do you know, Annabel, that you are my wife. \"Oh.
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